


Time and Love

by LavenderJem



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavenderJem/pseuds/LavenderJem
Summary: The Roses' know a little something about waiting for love.
Relationships: Johnny Rose/Moira Rose, Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Alexis Rose
Comments: 15
Kudos: 62





	1. 2020: Schitt's Creek

**Author's Note:**

> Going to start with an apology: I am no writer - but this show and these characters are sooo goddarn sweet and beautiful that I had to get this out of my head despite knowing that I could never do them justice. So, bear with me please. :)
> 
> [This is going to be mostly Johnny/Moira, with Ted/Alexis thrown in.]

_Spoiler Alert: If you haven't seen The Presidential Suite from season six, please don't read as this takes place the evening after._

* * *

  
“Aren’t you worried?” Johnny begins, getting ready for bed.  
  
“About who dear?” his wife doesn’t glance up from the book resting on her knees.  
  
“Alexis?”  
  
“And why should I be worried about our darling bébé girl?” another page turns.  
  
Johnny stops at the foot of their bed, taken aback by his wife’s apparent nonchalance.

“Moira, you do know that Alexis and Ted broke up last night? And that Ted has gone back to the Galapagos?... You have been _here_ , right?” he gestures around him, concern and a hint of worry evident in his voice.  
  
“John.” she begins accusingly, closing her book on her lap and looking to face her husband over the thick rims of her glasses, “Should you have suffered a bout of _neurasthenia_ and conjured up these events up in your _prefrontal cortex_ , I would have called for help of the psychiatric kind by now.” Moira retorts, making a show of placing the book and her glasses on the nightstand before folding her hands in her lap to further imply her full attention.  
  
“You know what I mean. Aren’t you worried how this will effect Alexis?”  
  
“No. I had a confab with her only this morning. After David regaled me with the prior evening’s events.”  
  
“You did?” John asks, hesitantly, one bushy eyebrow raised.  
  
Choosing to ignore the scepticism in her husband’s question, Moira continues. “And I believe, _as Alexis believes_ , that they have done the only right thing to do, for both of them.”  
  
“But after all they’ve been through together? How _happy_ they were together?”  
  
“All the more reason, John.”  
  
“To end things?” he asks as he climbs into bed.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
John puts his hands up in defeat, shaking his head gently as he lies back against the pillows.

Concerned that her husband’s worry appeared to have grown instead of diminished, Moira tucks herself further into the comforter and turns on her side to face him. Propping herself up on her elbow, she continues, her voice softer than before, “The circumstances in which they find themselves in have determined their decision. Our two sweethearts know they cannot be together at this very moment in time.”  
  
“So you’re not worried.”  
  
“A choice made from love is rarely a bad one, John.” Moira shifts closer into Johnny’s side, nestling her head on his chest, allowing him to pull her close with his arm around her. “As I reminded Alexis this AM - and what I shall communicate electronically to dearest Theodore- no matter how heartbroken they both are, what they do have is the love they share for each other. If that is meant to be, then _it will be_.”  
  
“I suppose you’re right.”  
  
“Am I not always?” Moira’s statement earns a scoff, “And don’t forget, many moons ago we found ourselves in a similar situation, Mr Rose.”  
  
Placing a kiss to his wife’s forehead before resting his cheek comfortably in the same spot, Johnny lets out a sigh. “I guess it just feels much worse being the parent this time round. We haven’t been there for Alexis in the past, I just want to make sure we are there for her now.”  
  
“Time. That is what it will take for Alexis.” Moira reaches for Johnny’s hand, lacing their fingers together, her thumb rhythmically rubbing small circles over his warm skin. “She is a fierce young woman on the brink of a career of which she is innately skilled at. We shall be here, but a door away, should she need any assistance.”  
  
Johnny nods slowly. As his mind goes back in time, his fingers reach from Moira’s shoulder to gently run through her hair. “Did you think, all those years ago, that we would end up here, together?”  
  
“Not this particular _mise-en-scène_ – _no,_ not even in my wildest night terrors, or my darkest of days did I conjure up quite such a-”  
  
“Moira.” Johnny interrupts her dramatic spiel, though he can't help but grin.  
  
The horror vanishing instantly from her voice, “From the moment I met you, I knew.” She states plainly as she places a kiss over John’s knuckles before settling their entwined hands back above his heart.  
  
“Me too.”  
  
“Shame we didn’t verbalise that little _titbit_ to each other sooner.”  
  
“I guess we didn’t know what the future held for us back then. What is it they say, about youth being wasted on the young?”  
  
“And that my dear, is the precise quandary in which dear Theodore and Alexis find themselves – what the future holds is a mystery to us all. Youth may offer exceptions to many a thing, but not to that. All you have is time, and love.” With that, Moira lifts her head ever so slightly so they can share a gentle kiss, and an unspoken goodnight passes between the two as they settle in to sleep.  
  
Time, and love. That’s all it would take.

* * *


	2. 1978: The Mudd Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say thank you to those lovely people who have left comments and kudos on the first chapter – you are so very kind! You have made the current Coronoapocalypse 1000% more bearable. This chapter is in two parts, I’ll post part 2 later on this evening. 
> 
> A little bit of timeline to bear in mind:  
> I have used Eugene and Catherine’s real ages as a guide for the characters. Its 1978, which makes Johnny 31 and Moira 24, or roundabout there. (In the fic as a whole, I’m going with 1980 as the year they finally get together. It’s not important but just to bear in mind as context.)
> 
> Also the The Mudd Club opened in New York sometime in August 1978. Trying to be roughly canonical, Moira mentions it in the episode Girls Night – having read up on it a bit it sounds exactly like where Moira would find herself!

* * *

_Early December, 1978  
The Mudd Club, Downtown New York  
  
_

Having made her way down the crowded stairway, Moira arrived on the club’s second floor - the one she had skipped past earlier in the night. It too was a vast industrial space, but in place of the art gallery she had just visited, or indeed the ground level disco she had danced her way through first, this floor was more like a large open foyer, filled with little pockets and clusters of people all enjoying themselves in animated conversations.

Moira couldn’t help but move her gaze between the merrymakers and their outfits, a surge of joy accompanying each new discovery that her eyes flitted over. The majority wore simple yet stylish clothes, which Moira deduced had to be the latest high fashion going by the clean lines and excellent tailoring. However, the people that captivated her the most were those dressed head to toe in the most elaborate attire she had ever seen: bold patterns, angular shapes and constructed designs all made their wearers look like intricate pieces of living sculptures rather than party-goers. Completely enthralled, she looked on as the two fashionable extremes mingled shoulder to shoulder, complimenting each other perfectly.

It was relaxed atmosphere. Some people were perching, some lounging on odd sofas and chairs that appeared just scattered throughout the dimly lit space; others stood around old school desks that were haphazardly strewn under looming floor-to-ceiling, blacked out steel frame windows. The rest gathered around the focal point of the room: a large claw-footed bathtub, filled to the brim with what Moira could just about make out to be ice and bottles of beer.  
  
The entirety of the space seemed to… to buzz with life. The chatter swelled and waned, and though not overly loud, it echoed against the ceiling’s metallic ducting and vigorously filled every inch of air. Moira paused; b _uzz_ wasn’t quite right. Neither was _thrum_ …. Or _throb_. There was an excitement, an anticipation, all mixed in a celebration. Frustrated at falling short of the perfect designation to fully express herself, she made a mental note discover one later, just in case she should ever need to depict such a wonderful scene again.  
  
Whatever the sensation was it continued right down to the very ground, where the music from the dancefloor below was reverberating through the wooden floorboards beneath her platform heels. Moira determined that for all intents and purposes the building had its very own spirited heartbeat - and much to her delight, as the minutes and hours of the evening had ticked by, she could slowly feel her own heart synchronising with the vital rhythm.  
  
_This is exactly where I want to be._

Spying a small sliver of empty wall space by a particularly vivid piece of graffiti, Moira made her way through the throng to get her bearings from a moment. She was feeling more than a little overwhelmed - _pleasantly so,_ she reminded herself, a grin playing over her face. Pulling out a compact from her clutch, she inwardly cringed as she peered into the mirror – her bold lipstick may be her go-to but it was decidedly not the best choice when kissing strangers in dimly lit recesses. Rectifying the smudges as best she could, Moira shrugged, tucking the compact away. Whomever the mystery man was, he most certainly would look worse than she did right now - no matter how handsome his face was, burgundy was _not_ his shade.  
  
_It had certainly been an evening._

Although she wanted to stay until the end of time itself, Moira knew that leaving some parts of the club and its many enchanting inhabitants a mystery would serve her well – after all, she would need something to make the tedium of the next week in her waitressing job survivable. Taking one last scan around the room, trying to commit as much of it to memory as she could, she reluctantly turned on her heel to head for the door.  
  
What she did not expect however was her body to collide with another moving twice as fast in the opposite direction. Nor did she expect the force of the impact to send her stumbling backwards, forcing the heel of her left platform boot to give way and her sense of balance to leave her completely.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” she heard a man’s voice call out before she had even hit the floor.  
  
Despite managing to hold on to a shred of dignity by remaining sitting upright, Moira had unceremoniously landed on her bottom, which was where she now sat, blinking. Vaguely aware of a voice asking if she was okay and two hands appearing in front of her, the embarrassment centre of her brain engaged in a split-second and she began to scramble to her feet. “I’m fine, help me up! Please!” she clutched on to the offered hands.

“I am so sorry,” the man now stood in front of her spoke as he pulled her upwards. “I didn’t see you there – are you alright?”  
  
“Well, don’t you know how to throw a girl from her feet!” she chided, not yet looking at her assailant purely out of self-consciousness, preferring to focus instead on brushing herself down and straightening the hem of her miniskirt.  
  
“Honestly, I am so sorry… are you sure you’re okay?”

Moira shook her head, waving a hand in his direction, her gaze still focused downwards. “Don’t worry, no harm done… Well…”, she paused, having felt something wrong with her left foot. Bending slightly, she pulled the offending boot’s zip down from her knee to her ankle, before wriggling her foot free. Bringing the platform up into the phosphorus glow of the graffiti to give her a better look at any damage, Moira sighed: it was no longer a platform, the oversized heel had broken clean off and was currently nowhere to be seen.  
  
So this was the _real_ price you ultimately pay for counterfeit fashion, she muttered to herself, vaguely hearing the man apologising for her shoe.  
  
“You must think I’m a real idiot.” he continued, once again offering his arm out which Moira accepted to steady herself. Balancing on one leg, she deftly pulled her boot back on - she was not going to compromise her outfit - god no, these boots were an important part of her look and they were staying on, broken heel or no broken heel.  
  
“Blundering, maybe. Clumsy, _certainly_.” Her words were a little curt as she let go of the stranger’s arm and tested her new balance. But as she brought her eyes up to look at the man nervously wringing his hands together in front of her, she couldn’t help but soften. He looked to be in genuine anguish, a dark cloud inhabiting his features. “But not an idiot, no.” she winked, offering a warm smile in reassurance as she brushed her fringe from her face. “Where were you headed at such a clip anyway?”  
  
The lines that had taken over his face vanished as he smiled back, “Oh, I was looking for the… _art space_?” he spoke as though the words were completely foreign to him, “Say, you don’t know which floor that’s on, do you?”  
  
“Two flights up,” Moira pointed to the informative colourful paint splattered above the doorway. “This is the second.”  
  
The man adjusted his thick rimmed glasses, following her line of sight, “Ah. So that’s what those are…” he regarded what he had assumed to be hieroglyphics, “Well, wow, great… Thanks.”  
  
Spying her clutch lying on the floor against the wall, Moira knelt down to retrieve it. Having expected the man to have disappeared, she was puzzled to find him still stood looking around as she got to her feet. Curiosity got the better of her, “So… am I to take it that you have a piece in the exhibition then?” she asked, leaning against the wall.  
  
“Oh no. No,” he continued, his eyes still focused elsewhere, “I just came to have a look. Actually that’s all I came here for, but I’ve found myself in just about every other part of this building.” He shook his head chuckling, running a hand through his hair.  
  
“You came _just_ for the art?” She regarded him for a moment, folding her arms casually over her chest. In speaking he seemed far too… _ordinary_ to be an artist. Not that Moira knew what ‘an artist’ _was_ exactly - tonight on the fourth floor she had met a few intriguing characters, all closed off faces with heavy -though exquisitely drawn- eyeliner. There was an air of aloofness that surrounded them, and the same was definitely not true of the man before her: there was a warmth in his smile, and in his eyes -and Moira couldn’t help but find herself being a little enamoured by him.  
  
Taking in his appearance more only brought further questions to her mind. _How_ had he coaxed the mass of tight curls and waves that was his hair into such a perfect halo around his head? And what possessed him to wear a pinstripe suit that was such a peculiar shade of… was that _mustard_? Surely not, it had to be the lights. Not that he looked bad in it, no, quite the opposite in fact…

His eyebrows were something else entirely.

Focusing on them, Moira realised they were currently offering her a quizzical look and immediately felt a blush begin in her cheeks. Had she been caught looking a little too long and now had to explain herself? “Sorry?”  
  
“I said you sounded surprised?” he repeated himself.  
  
“Oh, no, it was just you just didn’t strike me as the art-scene type.” She hoped that he wouldn’t see the uncontrollable rouge still lingering on her cheeks.  
  
“I’m actually looking for someone to do a bit of artwork for me. For my business, I mean.”  
  
“Oh,” Moira replied, as a frown crept over her features, “and _you_ thought you’d find someone _here_? In _this place..._ of all places?” she couldn’t imagine any of the artwork she had seen tonight to be befitting to any corporation.  
  
“Well, actually I didn’t, my girlfriend did. I was in town and she figured it was worth me looking.” He confessed.  
  
“And did your _girlfriend_ pick out your suit for you?” Moira teased, one of her own eyebrows raised, a smirk dancing at the edges of her lips. The mention of a girlfriend had caused a pang of disappointment in her chest, and she found herself more than a little taken aback by the feeling.

“What’s wrong with my suit?” He asked, making a show of straightening his tie and dusting off his shoulders.  
  
“Nothing. Nothing!” she shrugged, trying to stifle the grin that was appearing on her face.  
  
“Says the girl wearing an outfit made mostly of metal.” He countered, matching her grin as he motioned to Moira’s short leather skirt and matching oversized jacket, both adorned with heavy duty studs and spikes – not to mention the small collection of chains layered around her neck.  
  
“Hey!” she punched him jokingly in the arm. “Touché, Mr…?”  
  
“John Rose, though my friends call me Johnny.” he spoke as he offered her his hand for the third time that evening.  
  
“Nice to meet you, John. Moira McKenna.” As their hands came together and she found herself meeting John’s eyes properly for the first time, Moira felt her heart flutter under his gaze. The embarrassment of her earlier fall instantly forgotten, the room around them began to fall out of her focus, the noise and chatter quieting until all that was left was the man stood opposite her.

“I have to say Miss McKenna, you’re the friendliest face I’ve seen all night. Can I get you a drink? As an apology?”  
  
Shaking herself from her thoughts, Moira tucked away the attraction she was feeling, trying her best to sound nonplussed. “As delightful an apology drink sounds, I really should be calling it an evening I’m afraid.” she tilted her head in the direction of her broken platform, wiggling her ankle for effect. Oh what was she doing, she scolded herself, noticing the slight sag in John’s eyebrows. “But I don’t suppose you could help me to the door?”  
  
“I could give you a lift home?” John had evidently spoken before realising immediately how forward his words had been. “I mean, if you like. I mean, I have a car - I haven’t had a drink, I’ve been too intimidated by the bartender, or what I _assume_ was the bartender, that I haven’t had so much as a cola all night. And anyway, going by… well _everything-_ ” he gestured around him as he spoke, his arms flailing almost as much as his words, “I’m really not sure that I’m going to find what I’m looking for here. And more importantly, I’m the reason you’re cutting your evening short and you’re not fit for walk-”  
  
“Alright.” Moira interrupted. There was something about his sweet face and rambling reassurances that Moira found completely endearing. Tonight was about taking chances after all.  
  
“Alright?” John questioned, his wondrous eyebrows rising.  
  
“You may give me a lift.”

“Alright.” The warm grin had returned to his face, before puzzlement took its place as he looked around, “Erm, do you by any chance… know how we would go about getting out of here?”  
  
Rolling her eyes and laughing, Moira looped her arm with John’s and begun to lead him to the stairwell. Trying her best to compensate for her missing heel meant she had to hold Johns elbow tightly, a situation she could not deny enjoying.  
  
  



	3. 1978: The Mudd Club, Part 2

* * *

  
“So, you never told me how you ended up in The Mudd Club.” John spoke as his car joined the main traffic of downtown, the old style black Beaumont standing out amongst the throng of yellow New York cabs.

“May come as a surprise to you, but it was my first time there also.”  
  
John furrowed his eyebrows, “I never told you it was my first time.”  
  
“You didn’t have to.” Moira teased in response, looking him up and down out of the corner of her eye.  
  
“Alright, enough about the suit already!” John lifted his fingers off the steering wheel for a second in mock defeat, though there was a still a smile on his face as he chuckled.

“Hey, I did _not_ say anything about your suit!” It was in fact a rich butterscotch cream, not mustard, and looked considerably better viewed out-with any phosphorous lighting. “ _You_ asked me for directions, remember? _Twice_ , in one building!” Moira defended herself, shifting in the passenger’s seat so she was facing him.  
  
“Hmm…” he eyed her suspiciously, his grin growing larger on his face, “I believe you, though thousands wouldn’t.”  
  
Rolling her eyes as she laughed, Moira shifted again in her seat, turning her eyes to the city lights passing the window. A companionable silence settled between the two as the blocks began to pass one by one. It had taken Moira three quarters of an hour on the subway to reach the club from the boarding house she was now calling home, she was unsure of how long the journey would be by car. She didn’t mind, the city was very much alive despite the lateness of the hour and she was going to soak up every second of the view on the other side of the glass.   
  
“So, Miss McKenna, what’s your story.” John’s voice broke Moira from her reverie.  
  
“I insist that you call me Moira. Please.” She chastised, not moving her eyes from the window, “And my story…. Is one I’m not sure we have time for.”  
  
“Well,” he began, clearing his throat, “I should point out that I may have just missed our turn - so I think we may have some time on our hands whilst I take this slight detour.”  
  
Moira smiled, shaking her head before looking down at her own hands. The clasp on her bag had suddenly become very interesting. “Well…” she took a deep breath, “I moved here two weeks ago. Got a ride with my driving instructor out of the backwater hellhole that was my town, hopped on the first bus that said New York with nothing but my handbag, earrings and my winnings from the dog track.”  
  
John took a beat to digest this information. Hellhole? Winnings from the _dog track_? Remaining perplexed, his brow furrowed. Best to start at the beginning, “You left town, with your _driving instructor_?”  
  
“In all honestly, I think he was just fed up with me showing the other youths in town how to hot-wire cars. I am sure he was glad to see the back of me.” Moira shook the thought her origins from her mind’s eye. There was no reply from John as he struggled to put his astonishment into words, so she continued. “The cab driver that picked me up mentioned the club as we passed. It sounded… perfect. Actors, musicians, artists, all mixing together, what could be better? So I promised myself in that grubby little automobile that I would go by the end of the week. And well, here we are…”  
  
“So you came alone?!” John’s eyebrows raised halfway to his hairline as he digested each piece of information he had just learned about the woman sat opposite him.

“To the city or to the club?”  
  
“Both…. I mean, either? I mean-,” John turned to face her as he slowed the car to a stop at a red light.  
  
Moira brought her focus up to look towards him, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. “Have you never felt so utterly out a place somewhere that all you could think of was your escape?”  
  
“No, no, I can’t say I have.” He replied, apologetically.

“Well you should think yourself lucky indeed." Moira sighed, "I was suffocating in that town, John. I had to get out…. And the only person that was going to make that happen for me, was myself. So I left.” She spoke plainly, as though discussing the easiest thing in the world. The lights turned green, the blasts of several horns behind them broke their shared gaze as John quickly got the car moving again. “And anyway, it’s just a club.” Moira shrugged dismissively, not wanting to dwell on the subject much longer. Whether it was the lateness of the hour, or the soft voice of the charming man sat opposite her, Moira could feel the beginnings of tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.  
  
Noting the slight sag in Moira’s shoulders as she turned away, John continued, “Not exactly your run of the mill place, though is it?”

“People being free to express themselves how they want to? Curating the image of themselves that they wish to show others?… how I wish that was run-of-the-mill.”  
  
“So it lived up to your expectations then?”

A gentle nod was his reply as Moira ran her fingers through her hair, drifting off into her thoughts again as the lights outside her window blurred in front of her eyes. No, she chided herself. She had had a wonderful evening, and she was damned if she was going to ruin it by getting sentimental. She was better than that.  
  
Keeping her gaze on the glass, she cleared her throat slightly to break the quiet that had descended over the car. “You know, you aren’t the only gentleman named John I met tonight…” her face het up at the absurdity of her confession.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Mmhm. The first said his name was…” she paused for a moment, her mind struggling to recall the name, “Was it Tiger? No… Jaguar?”  
  
“John Jaguar?” John laughed, “Surely there is no one called _John Jaguar_ out there!”  
  
“I’m telling you!” she replied defiantly, “It was something like that, a large cat.” She hummed a little as she cast her thoughts back, “Dark haired, southern accent, was far more interested in the band than in me, but oh was he handsome.”  
  
“Large cat?” John mulled the name over before a spark of recognition flashed on his face, “You don’t mean Cougar, as in John Cougar? As in-”  
  
“Cougar!” Moira interrupted, clasping her hands together as if in celebration. “That’s it. He was quite the dashing figure in his denim shirt and waistcoat.”  
  
“He’s a musician. We had a few posters of handed in to the stores to promote his new record that’s just out.”

“That explains it.” Moira muttered to herself, taking slight comfort in knowing that had circumstances been different, she would perhaps have won the other man’s attention without resorting to her go-to move. 

“So what was he like?”  
  
“Well…” a mischievous grin began on Moira’s face as she recalled her evening, “I cannot attest to his character other than to say that he was a _very_ generous kisser.” She stated simply.  
  
“Oh,” John’s eyes widened, “OH.”  
  
“Don’t _‘OH’_ me John, it makes you sound like my mother." Moira cringed as she turned to him, her horror at the thought evident on her face.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m just, is that… is _that_ what you were looking to get out of tonight?”  
  
“Excuse me, _ew_?” the horror had turned to a grimace, “I’ll have you know that wasting my favourite lipstick on unknown minstrels is _not_ a pastime of mine.” Moira replied matter-of-factly. After a beat she tossed her head back, tousling her hair, her voice now softer. “It was merely a small plus of this evening.”  
  
Fearing he had upset her, John let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding at the sight of Moira’s grin. Shaking his head, “You almost had me there.” He cleared his throat again, “What I meant was I just was curious… if the girl in the cab had found what she was looking for.” As he spoke he had tilted his head towards her.

There was that voice again. Notes of genuine relief and care for her feelings, coupled with his calm demeanour and gentleness. Moira could once again feel the intricate walls that she had crafted around herself crumbling.

“I don’t know exactly what I was anticipating this evening...” she paused, as though choosing her words carefully. “But what I do know is that…. for as long as I can remember I have always felt that though my body was in one place, my head and heart were somewhere else entirely.” She paused again, trying to put her feelings into words. “Tonight, for the first time ever, I felt as though everything came together - that I was _exactly_ where I was meant to be.”  
  
A pause. “Now that makes me sound as mad as a March hare.” Running a hand across her forehead as she lent against the headrest, Moira left her hand over her eyes.

“No it doesn’t.” John offered her a tentative smile as he snuck a glance in her direction. Moira had visibly shrunk back in her seat, feeling more than a little mortified that she had been so open. “Besides,” he continued, “I’m glad you were there tonight, otherwise I would probably still be wandering around lost, and I wouldn’t have an amusing John Cougar anecdote to tell at my next meeting.”  
  
Moira felt the butterflies in her chest return and multiply, not to mention the flush in her cheeks deepening. This man has a girlfriend, she reminded herself. Taking up the offering on a subject change, she continued, “Ah yes, your art business? The one your beau was helping you with?”  
  
“Well, it’s not in art, it’s a video business, VHS rentals. Only just in the beginning of things, but I think we could be on to something. Janine just helps out.” Keeping one hand on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road, John flicked a small compartment open on the dashboard, producing a business card before offering it to Moira.  
  
She scanned her eyes over the print: Rose Video Ltd. Office in Ottawa, stores in Toronto and Montreal. “CEO Johnathon Rose. Impressive.” She read aloud.   
  
“Hopefully, one day. A lot of work to happen between then and now.”  
  
“Well, look at us John.” She regarded her companion from across the car, “Two strangers taking the first steps towards their futures, now isn’t that what big city dreams are made of?”  
  
John nodded, “Time will tell, I guess. Time will tell.” 

______________________________________________________________

The rest of the car ride had been spent in amiable chit chat, from their hopes for the future to their plans for the coming weeks. 

Though Moira had learned far more than she needed to know about business models and the pros and cons of franchising said models out, listening to the pride and enthusiasm John had for his work had been reward enough. The way his face lit up over the excitement of a roll-out was delightful, and as the front of her boarding house came into view, Moira found herself resentful of the engine for its impending stop.  
  
“Thank you, for offering to escort me home.” She began, undoing her seatbelt, in no hurry to move.  
  
Pulling up alongside the kerb, John tipped an imaginary hat in Moira’s direction. “Glad to be of service, Miss.” He smiled a little sheepishly, “I really am sorry about earlier. And that I took the, eh… scenic route.”  
  
“A pleasant diversion.” Moira returned the smile, her hand lingering on the door handle a little longer than was necessary, “And it’s not _Miss_ , it’s just Moira.” The moment hung in the air between the two. Years later, Moira would swear that as their eyes met the city slowed around them.

“Moira.”

Her breath involuntarily hitching in her throat at the sound of her name coming from his lips, she had difficulty finding her voice, “I’m… I’m sorry I don’t have anything to give you as a gratuity. I can’t help you with artwork, or with your business. But if you ever need help, say… leaving your backwater hometown for the city, or starting an automobile without a key, or perhaps dark corner dalliances, then I’m your girl.” She winked.  
  
“I’ll bear that in mind. You never know, I might see you... downtown sometime?” John asked, the hopefulness evident in his voice and the waggle in his eyebrows.  
  
“Oh I will be sure to look out for this _ensemble_.” She moved her hand in a circular movement, motioning to his whole body, before turning and climbing out of the car.  
  
“Hey, I have other suits,” John called as Moira ducked her head through the open door. “Have a nice salmon pink one I’ve been looking for an excuse to wear.”  
  
A loud 'ha!' escaped her as she shook her head in disbelief, “Goodnight John!"  
  
“Maybe green?” he called, as he began to let the car roll forward, bringing Moira holding on to the door with him. “Lemon?!”  
  
“Perhaps something in cerulean, then we’ll talk!” For some reason unknown to her, and a move she would berate herself for later, Moira blew a kiss with her words as pushed the door closed. She remained standing on the kerb, waving him off until his car disappeared from her line of sight.  
  
Johnathon Rose. She thumbed the business card tucked in her pocket.  
  
Time would tell indeed.  
  


* * *


	4. 1979: Los Angeles

* * *

  
December 1979, LA.  
  
Tucked in the furthest corner of his sunken patio, thankful for the heat coming from the nearby chimnea, Johnny Rose gazed aimlessly into the winter night’s sky and sighed. The sounds of music and laughter, popping corks and clinking glasses drifted down from the house, filling the air around him. The sounds of a successful evening by anyone’s standards, he supposed.

Bringing his eyes downwards, he watched as the pool cast its dancing reflections across the stonework of the recently finished deck. His pool, John reminded himself. His pool, his deck, his outdoor grill, his perfectly manicured flower beds set against his perfectly complete condo. A second home in the sun being one of the perks of a blossoming successful career, he figured.

“Johnathon Rose, co-owner and founder of the up and coming Rose Video.” the words still sounded alien out loud. But that’s who he is now. After years of endless hours and dedication, his dreams were now becoming a reality. Rose Video had fast become a capable competitor in the home video world. The franchise idea had been a hit, and fifteen new stores were on the cards thanks to the latest round of investors he and Eli had just secured – what a week that had been. In fact, it had been quite a year, and the turning of the decade promised to bring even bigger and better things. Yet as he closed his eyes, shifting his shoulders in the newly upholstered lounger, John was acutely aware that the feeling hanging over him was not one of contentment. Not happiness, but not unhappiness. Not fulfilment, but god knows he wasn’t unfulfilled. There was relief, and then guilt for that relief, both stemming from his actions earlier in the night – and boy they were not settling right in his stomach.

The sudden click-clack echo of high heels hitting the stone steps stopped him from thinking on the matter any further.

“Are you quite comfortable Mr Rose?” a soft voice enquired as the footsteps got closer.

“Well… I make a living.” He called back, tucking a hand behind his head, feigning nonchalance as he closed his eyes. He didn’t need to look, he would recognise that delightful lilting voice anywhere - and the swirl of butterflies in his chest that always accompanied it.

“…and here I thought you were just a _flourishing entrepreneur_ -”, the voice began in mock incredulity - Johnny imagined two gloved hands thrown in pretend surprise, “…when really you have been a funny guy this whole time!”

John’s eyes opened just as Moira McKenna came to a stop at the foot of his lounger. Her floor length silk dress, though in a rich shade of plum, twinkled and shimmered in the soft glow of the poolside and made her figure almost musical. Looped as usual into loose waves, her blonde hair cascaded over the heavy velvet wrap pulled tightly around her shoulders. She was a sight, just as she always was.

Realising he had maybe, definitely, been staring a moment too long, John cleared his throat and offered her a smile, “Well, of course, the video business is merely a hobby.”

“And what a hobby indeed... May I?” Moira motioned to the adjacent lounger.

“Be my guest Miss McKenna.” He had been right, Moira’s delicate hands were indeed gloved – black leather with a few small chains and buckles zig-zagging across them that clinked against the metal chair’s frame.

“Please, for the one hundredth time, it is _just_ Moira.”

“Then be my guest, Just Moira.”

With a perfected dramatic roll of her eyes, Moira perched gracefully on the lounger to his right. “I suppose I have to admire the confidence of a man who makes the same unfunny witticism over and over.” The smile on her face completely contradicting her words.

“You laughed once, I’m sure. I think it was… around about attempt fifty four, wasn’t it?” John couldn’t help but grin as a he elicited a scoff from his friend. “Hmm, that was almost there but not quite, not quite. Guess I’ll just have to go for lucky number one hundred and one.”

This earned him a playful slap to the arm.

“So, tell me. How is it that the man of the hour finds himself out here in these _positively arctic_ conditions, all on his lonesome? I should have thought there were plenty of merry Rose Video devotees inside.” A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth as she looked questioningly over to her companion.

“Came out for some fresh air.” Reaching into his breast pocket, John produced a small silver hip flask, “…and Lagavulin does a pretty good job at warding off the cold.”

“Lagavulin? _Well_ , one is certainly moving up in the world!” Moira accepted the offered flask readily, her wrap was not enough to stop the shiver that had begun to settle on her shoulders. “So,” the heat from the whisky caught slightly in her throat, “just some fresh air?”

Taking a nip himself, he nodded in a bid to reassure his friend, but with his focus fixed squarely on the sky he missed the concern that crossed Moira’s features. Reading more from his quiet than she let on, Moira decided to change the subject. Reclining back into her lounger too, she followed John’s gaze upwards. “You know, I hate to admit it but I do miss the stars on evenings such as this.”

“Oh? Never took you for the star gazing type.”

“Couldn’t escape them back home. There weren't many lamps in the streets but the night was never dark.” Moira said as scanned the hazy orange-tinged black expanse above her, the moon a puddle of grey between clouds, “I miss those bejewelled skies.”

“Is this the mighty Moira McKenna debating on returning to the country?”

“Oh god no. _No_. You must promise to _end_ me should I ever even come close to even thinking that.” Moira visibly shivered.

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

The sounds of the party filtered back into the space around them as they both quietened. Cheers and chatter, a distant drone of a bagpipe - either in the right hands or the wrong hands, John couldn’t tell the difference. Soon other sounds pushed the party from his ears once again; the gentle lap of the water at the pool’s edge, the soft jingle of the many bracelets on Moira’s wrists as she turned her wrap into a blanket, bundling her arms underneath the velvet as she pulled it up around her chin.

For the briefest of moments, their eyes met - Moira’s studying him for a second, John’s instantly flitting back to the sky. His heartbeat thrummed so loudly in his ears that he almost didn’t catch her words.

“Out with it Mr Rose.” Moira spoke without breaking her gaze.

“Out with what?” How did she manage it? Johnathon Rose was a man who kept himself to himself, but here he was, five words from her and he could all but hear his defences crumble.

Moira didn’t reply. Instead, with a swift swing of her legs she brought herself to face John, sitting with her elbows propped up on her knee, her left eyebrow raised in silent ask. In that instant, the muddle of feelings that her arrival had pushed away rose to front and centre.

“It’s been... a bit of an evening.” He eventually breathed out.

“You mean ‘a bit’ as in how those bagpipes have been _a bit_ of a racket all evening?”

“It’s almost New Year,” John began defensively before admitting defeat, “…What can I say, not my best choice.” the short burst of Moira’s laugh eased the tension in his shoulders, if only a little.

“I had assumed that someone would have done a better job of disposing of the offending instrument by now.” She said, before her voice lowered to a whisper, “That someone may or may not have been instructed by me—“

“I ended things with Janine.” John interrupted, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop and think.

“Tonight?”

“Tonight. Of all nights.”

“Oh John.” reaching across the gulf between them, Moira placed her hand over his. “I’m sorry,”

“No its fine, its fine. It’s fine. Things just weren’t…” John’s tongue tangled over words, forcing him to clear it throat. “They just weren’t right.”

“How did Janine take it?”

“Fine, surprisingly fine.” John turned his eyes away, he couldn’t. It was simpler to keep his eyes firmly focused forward. Or up. Anywhere but towards her. “She understood.”

“Oh John.” Usually verbose, Moira’s words stalled in her chest.

“It’s fine. Honestly.” he managed a small laugh, a nervous hollow laugh. In truth, he knew the guilt he felt wasn’t for leaving Janine, but rather because he didn’t feel nearly as bad about it as he should. An intake of breath came as an attempt to quieten the swell of what John was sure was every emotion he had ever felt. Instead, it allowed every word to spill off his tongue. “I… I loved Janine. I really did. And do… but she deserves someone who loves her with everything they are. I think we both knew that it wasn’t going to be me.”

“John.” Any walls John had left disappeared as he turned to look to Moira. Her eyes were shinning. Her beautiful, soft eyes... “I-”

“Moira?” a voice called from the distance above their heads. The unexpected sound jolted both of them apart, their shared hands dropped in an instant. Moira found herself on her feet just as a familiar face appeared over the grassy embankment behind them. “Oh there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you babe.”, the figure said.

Moira awkwardly made act of readjusting her wrap before looking up. “Sorry, I just came out… for some fresh air.”

“Hey Violet.” John mustered all the cheer he could as got to his feet too. He had met the woman stood at the top of the grassy bank a handful of times over the last twelve months, at galleries and parties. Her choppy bobbed hair matched her name and John remembered how livid Moira had been that one of her favourite shirts had become a tie-dye in the process- but also how she hadn’t minded so much when the top had featured in an exhibition down in Greene Street.

“Oh hey Johnny. Great party you’ve got going on here and all but we have to go. Our flight is an early one tomorrow.”

John looked from Violet to Moira, his eyebrow raised in question. “Vi is helping kick things off at White Columns, I’m tagging along.” Moira said, her voice sounding almost apologetic as she explained.

“Wouldn’t be a show without my beau by my side.” continued Violet. 

Well, that was one thing he hadn’t realised.  
  
“Oh wow. Great, that’s really great.” John nodded, his smile a little too wide. “I bet you’ll do great, both of you.” Pulling his collar tighter around him, he wished his coat would just swallow him up. “Thanks… thanks for coming.”

“Vi,” Moira interjected, her eyes lingering over John before she steeled a smile over her face, “Would you go and collect our jackets, it’ll take me an _eon_ to get back up the path in these heels.”

“Sure, I’ll meet you at the front. Have a good New Year Johnny, see you around, maybe come down to the new space sometime.”

“You too, and I’ll do that, I will.” John thrust his hands into his pockets, shuffling his feet as Violet blew a kiss to Moira, who responded in kind as her figure disappeared once again.

“Her beau, eh?” John piped up once he was confident the artist was out of earshot.

Moira could see in John’s face that walls were back in place, all sides, as she looked over to him again. “Thank you for a lovely evening, John.”

“I like her. You’re a good fit.”

“It’s just a casual thing. I hear her two boyfriends are a good fit for her too.” Moira paused, placing her hand under John’s chin to close his mouth before he spoke. “Listen. Good men always win John. In time, they always win.” For a moment, there was something in her eyes and in her smile that made him believe she was right. “Goodnight Mr Rose.” she whispered, placing a hand on his arm with a small squeeze, before turning to head for the steps.

“Goodnight.” He called out, watching her careful pick her way up across the stone flags flopping down to his lounger once again.

“White Columns. New Year.” Moira called out without looking back as she reached the top step and disappeared entirely.

“New year.” John said to himself, unsure if Moira’s words had been an invite or simply a reminder of where she would be. “A new year.” He repeated, the smallest of smiles beginning on his face.   
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I have no idea how cold it gets in LA in December, I'm calling creative licence on that one, sorry. 
> 
> \- McKenna is nowhere near the harsh sounding name that Dan Levy said he had written for Moira's maiden name, I will admit. But I chose it because it means "ascend" which I think suits Moira's ever pressing need to better herself perfectly. Whether through her wanting to leave her small town roots behind, and then wanting to leave Schitt's Creek, or through her learning and sharing of arcane words, Moira is on that self-betterment kick and I love it. So she's a McKenna.
> 
> \- 112 Greene Street was an art and exhibition space in SoHo that was founded in 1970. In 1979 it moved location to Tribeca and became White Columns. It has moved several times since, but remains one of the oldest exhibition spaces in New York still open today. Moira in New York written all over it.


End file.
